


don't stop

by bellawritess



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Sharing Clothes, alternately titled 'are you propositioning me', could never be me, for the record tom cruise is hot, i was really tired when i wrote this which is why theres so much sleep, imagine me writing a fic where they DON'T ask 'are you propositioning me', like if you really think about it...the prompt...the title, me: i should write from michaels pov more, me: writes another fic from calums pov, rating for like. swearing kissing and general shenanigans, stole this from one of those dialogue prompts lists, technically this fic is all about boundaries and consent, they talk about sex but they dont have it onscreen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: “Hey,” Calum whispers, voice raspy and thick with sleep. Michael looks up at him. “It’s, uh. It’s two in the morning and you’re playing guitar. You know that, right?”Michael stares at Calum, eyes traveling from his eyes down to his bare chest and then back, quickly enough that Calum might have imagined it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers back. “I thought I was being quiet enough.”“The walls are thin,” Calum explains. The last thing he wants is for Michael to feel guilty, which is weird because Michael is guilty.“Sorry,” Michael repeats. “Do you want me to stop? I can stop.” He makes to set his guitar aside.“No,” Calum says, surprising the both of them.ORFive times one of them asked “do you want me to stop?” and the one time someone else asked them to.
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood, pre-Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 30
Kudos: 95





	don't stop

**Author's Note:**

> a fic that DOESNT include any of the 1d or atl boys??? i am disgusted, i am revolted,,
> 
> literally so ashamed at using don't stop as the title. but it's the only thing that makes sense. im so angry.
> 
> this fic is...a sleep-deprivation-induced whirlwind. hope you like it. im still putting off the final things ive got for one of my classes so instead you get this. i should go do that but i won't :)
> 
> enjoy!!!

**1.**

Michael and Calum have an arrangement regarding hair.

More specifically, Michael and Calum have an agreement that should the opportunity arise to play with each other’s hair, there is absolutely no reason not to. In fact, Calum is pretty sure they’re contractually obliged, by now. 

It’s not that deep. They just both love having their hair played with.

The arrangement starts in 2011, on a rainy September evening in Michael’s living room.

“I don’t want to watch _Mission: Impossible_ ,” Michael says, for what Calum thinks might be the millionth time. 

“You’re so boring,” Calum says. “ _Mission: Impossible_ are all spy movies! They’ve got heists! Action! Adventure!”

“I don’t care about that stuff,” Michael whines. “I just want a chill film that I won’t have to pay close attention to. Spy movies are always so confusing.”

“Only if you spend half of it sorting your Magic: The Gathering cards,” Calum says. Michael huffs and ignores the comment.

“I don’t even think we own a single _Mission: Impossible_ DVD.”

“I saw it when we were looking for _Monsters, Inc._ ,” Calum says. “Yet another reason I should get to choose the movie: you chose the last one.”

Michael lets out the most long-suffering groan of all time. “Fine, whatever,” he says. “I’ll just fall asleep anyway.”

Calum grins, victorious. He shifts himself off the sofa, locates the _Mission: Impossible_ DVD, and puts it in the player. 

As the movie loads up and Calum hears it whir, he clambers back onto the couch. “You’re going to like this movie whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not going to like it.”

“Tom Cruise is in it,” Calum says. “He’s, like, objectively hot.”

“Tom Cruise isn’t hot.”

“Just wait,” Calum says, because that’s ridiculous. He’s straight, and even he knows Tom Cruise is hot. “Even the music is badass.”

Michael yawns. Calum had assumed Michael was bluffing about sleeping through the movie, but maybe not. As the music starts up, Michael shifts, leaning against Calum’s shoulder. It’s a sweet gesture, but Calum’s arm is now trapped.

“Ugh, move,” he says. “Just lie down, you can put your head in my lap.”

If Michael thinks that’s a weird suggestion he doesn’t say, just wordlessly complies. His head is warm against Calum’s thighs, Calum thinks. He tries to figure out where his hands are supposed to go now that his lap is occupied, but after about two minutes holding them up he finally gives up and puts them down in his lap behind Michael’s head. If Michael can’t share space, that’s on him.

They get through about five minutes of the movie before Michael yawns again. Calum sighs. “We can just go to bed if you’re tired, Mikey.”

“No, no,” Michael says. “We’ve already started it. It’s fine.” Calum can’t tell if he’s being passive-aggressive or just really lazy, but whatever. They’ve already started it.

He doesn’t realize he’s even doing anything until Michael sighs contentedly at a scene that really doesn’t warrant a sigh. Calum glances down at him, as if it’ll clear anything up, and realizes that he’s been playing with Michael’s hair for a few minutes now without meaning to. It’s just very soft, is the thing, and it’s _right there_ where his hands are.

“Hmm,” Michael hums. Calum can feel his cheek, warm against Calum’s thigh. “My hair.”

Calum’s hands still. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, thinking that’s the polite thing to do.

“No,” Michael says sleepily. “‘S nice. Feels nice.”

Calum hesitates a second too long, and Michael whines, “Cal. Keep going.”

So Calum resumes his task of gently stroking Michael’s hair, pulling his fingers through it as delicately as he possibly can. Michael hums again, and it sounds almost like a cat purring. It makes Calum’s heart do something weird.

Michael falls asleep about six minutes later. Calum feels his breathing even out and resigns himself to a night of uncomfortable sleep on the couch.

**2.**

Calum wants to say that Michael started it, but he’s honestly not sure. All he knows is he wakes up one morning with _CALUM LIKES DICK_ written in big letters on his arm and immediately declares war.

Luke and Ashton both plead innocent, and Calum lets them be, even though he’s pretty sure Luke is the guilty party. It’s more fun to prank Michael, anyway, especially because Michael is biologically incapable of staying mad at him.

Not like Calum’s any better. One well-placed puppy dog eyes from Michael and Calum is tripping over himself to fill his needs. But whatever. At least he’s _aware._

It starts off about how you’d expect. Calum strikes back when Michael is napping, writing _MICHAEL IS A BOTTOM_ down the length of his right arm as he sleeps soundly. He would feel badly if he weren’t too busy laughing his ass off.

Michael wakes up an hour later and shouts, “What the _fuck_ , Calum!” and Calum bursts out laughing again. Ashton gives him a strange look. Calum waves him off. Moments later Michael appears out of the bunk area, holding out his arm for Calum (and Ashton) to read. His hair is all mussed up from sleep, and his cheeks are still a little pink. All in all, pretty adorable except for the message in all-caps on his arm. Calum looks at it and can’t stop laughing. Michael glares.

“ _Michael is a bottom_ ,” Ashton reads, as if reading the daily news. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Calum gasps through his laughter.

“As if you’d know!” Michael says, incensed. “And for the record, I’m a switch.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Calum manages, calming down enough. “Consider us even.”

“Oh, dream on, Hood. This is war. I know so many secrets about you.” Michael looks genuinely riled up. Calum is only a little intimidated, and pretty turned on by the combination of competitive Michael and Michael who’s just woken up, but he ignores the second thing and folds his arms over his chest.

“You think I don’t know your dirty little secrets? There’s plenty more where that came from,” he says.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“I’m gonna go to a different place,” Ashton announces, and leaves the lounge.

The next morning when Calum wakes up, he has _calum had a sex dream about ashton once :)_ written on his other arm. Just as he’d started getting the first message cleaned off, too, he thinks mournfully, before processing what the words actually say, and that this is a _secret_ that he _really_ would rather Ashton didn’t know about.

He pulls a long-sleeve shirt over his head and ambles into the kitchen area. Maybe they didn’t see Michael do it. Maybe he can hide it.

“Good morning to everyone except Michael,” he says, stretching.

“Did you really have a sex dream about Ashton?” Luke says bluntly. Well. So much for that.

Calum drops his face in his hands. “Can I please, _please_ have some coffee before you ask me that.”

Michael sniggers.

“It’s cool if you did,” Ashton says. “I’m pretty hot. I don’t blame you.”

“It’s not like I _chose_ to,” Calum mutters, hating the entire room of people. “I wouldn’t sleep with any of you fuckers in real life. And I told that to Michael in _confidence._ ” He rounds on Michael. “Bitch.”

“Hey, you started this,” Michael says. He holds up his hands. Calum scoffs.

“I didn’t write anything we couldn’t have deduced from knowing you as a person,” Calum says. “You exude bottom energy.”

“I do not!” Michael says.

“Yes you do,” Ashton says.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees.

“Fuck you guys,” Michael says.

“Calum already has,” Luke points out, “in his dream.”

“Can we move on from the sex dream?” Calum begs. “It won’t happen again.”

“Was I any good?” Ashton asks, stirring his tea. Calum almost chokes.

“I’m not talking about this,” he says, and marches to the bathroom, showering until the words come off his arm and brainstorming the best thing to write on Michael.

The arm-writing prank war lasts roughly another week and invokes one too many (read: one) conversations about favored sexual positions than Calum would prefer to have had with his bandmates. But eventually the prank peters out, and Calum is left with bare arms and kind of missing when he had something there to look at.

“Hey, Mikey,” he says, when they’re both sitting on the couch in the lounge one afternoon. The tour bus is rumbling along. Luke is napping, Ashton is...Ashton-ing (Calum’s never entirely sure), and the two of them are trying to become one with the lounge sofa via osmosis. Michael’s scrolling through Twitter one-handed, and his left arm is just laying out, doing nothing. Real estate fresh for the taking. 

“Mmh?” Michael replies.

“Can I,” Calum starts. “Can I draw on your arm?”

Michael turns his head so fast Calum gets whiplash just watching it. He yanks his arm away like he’s been burned. “Paws off, Hood. We have a truce.”

“I’m not going to break the truce,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “I mean actual drawing. Pictures and stuff.”

Michael squints suspiciously. “Why?”

 _Because I love the way you look with tattoos and your arm is blank and perfect for drawing on and I have a blue pen and I want to be touching you,_ Calum thinks. “Bored,” is what he says. “Your arm is pale enough that it could be paper, so.”

“That’s bullying,” Michael says. “Fine, but if I see _one_ dick, I’m out.”

“Title of your sex tape,” Calum says, grinning as he reaches for Michael’s arm. Michael flips him off and goes back to Twitter.

Calum hasn’t really sketched in a long time, but he finds himself getting tunnel vision on the doodles he draws on Michael’s arm. He puts the 5SOS logo in about four places, connects them with curvy music staves, and then starts sketching little stars around. Michael is silent and unresponsive; he doesn’t even look over as Calum drags the tip of the pen up into Michael’s palm. He draws a heart over Michael’s palm, hesitates, then writes _M + C._ But it makes his heart hurt, looking at it, so he doodles a heart over the letters and colors it in.

When he goes to draw a smiley face on the inside of Michael’s elbow, Michael jerks, giggling reactively. “Oh, sorry,” Calum says, pulling the pen away. “Do you want me to stop?”

Michael looks at his arm and then up at Calum. Calum can almost see the stars in his eyes. “No,” Michael says softly. “Looks nice.”

Calum smiles and brings his attention back to Michael’s arm to hide the flush on his face. 

Michael leaves the doodles on for the show that night. Every time Calum chances a look at Michael, he smiles like an idiot.

**3.**

It is two in the morning, and Michael is playing guitar.

Calum can hear it, unfortunately, through the walls of the hotel room, which are unpleasantly thin. He’s pretty out of sorts when he wakes up to the sound of a guitar and a low voice, but he’s certain it’s coming from the hallway.

Maybe Michael should win points for being conscientious enough to leave the room before playing. There have definitely been enough times when that step had been skipped.

Calum buries his face in his pillow. He loves Michael, seriously, but now? _Now?_ At two o’clock in the fucking morning? When they have a radio interview tomorrow? 

Why is Michael even awake? Calum knows he’s a night owl, but even this is pushing late for him.

He lays in bed for about five minutes and listens. Past the initial grogginess and general displeasure, Calum can appreciate Michael’s voice. It’s muffled through the walls, so he can’t make out any words, but just the familiar timbre is soothing to Calum.

He tries to fall back asleep, but Michael doesn’t stop playing, and the rise and fall of the guitar keeps taking him by surprise. Finally, he groans, pushing himself off the bed in a move most typically done by alcoholics, and walks to the door.

The second the doorknob turns, all sound ceases. Calum pushes the door open and steps out, belatedly realizing he’s not wearing a shirt. 

Michael is sitting with his back against the front wall of their room, wearing a hoodie with sleeves pushed up to keep them from sweater-pawsing all over his guitar hands (Calum’s seen him wear it enough times to know) and doing the most impressive imitation of a deer in headlights that Calum has ever seen.

“Hey,” Calum whispers, voice raspy and thick with sleep. Michael looks up at him. “It’s, uh. It’s two in the morning and you’re playing guitar. You know that, right?” 

Michael stares at Calum, eyes traveling from his eyes down to his bare chest and then back, quickly enough that Calum might have imagined it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers back. “I thought I was being quiet enough.”

“The walls are thin,” Calum explains. The last thing he wants is for Michael to feel guilty, which is weird because Michael is guilty.

“Sorry,” Michael repeats. “Do you want me to stop? I can stop.” He makes to set his guitar aside.

“No,” Calum says, surprising the both of them. “That’s okay. I like listening.”

“Are you sure?” Michael looks at him with uncertainty. Calum gestures vaguely, which hopefully conveys _I’m sure._

“I’m already awake,” he adds. “And I don’t mind. Hearing you play.”

Michael blushes, ducking his head. Calum’s not sure what compelled him to say that, but it’s the truth, and it seems to do the trick. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t have much, but you can stay if you want.”

Calum stays for the hour and listens to Michael sing tentatively about sleeping alone and heartache. He doesn’t ask why Michael is awake. He thinks he can tell.

When they go back into the room, still dark enough to feel like time isn’t passing the same, Calum murmurs, “Sleep with me?”

“Are you propositioning me?” Michael asks. Calum elbows him, too tired to do anything else. He _wishes._

“Cuddle with me,” he clarifies. He voices it as a question, but it’s obviously not one. They both curl up on Calum’s bed, and Calum wraps his arm over Michael’s middle, pulling him close. “Goodnight.”

“G’night,” Michael whispers. “Sorry ‘bout waking you.”

“Don’t be. I’ll choose you over sleep anytime.”

Michael doesn’t respond, but he sighs like he’s at peace. Calum leans his forehead against the back of Michael’s neck, wishing this could mean something more than it does. He kisses Michael between the shoulder blades because it feels like the right thing to do, and falls asleep. 

  
  


**4.**

It’s not like the band necessarily keeps track of what belongs to whom anymore, but Calum likes to know. It’s not that he’s _possessive_ over his clothes. It’s just nice to be warned when someone’s going to be borrowing something of his, so he doesn’t spend twenty minutes searching frantically through his stuff like an idiot.

So when Calum comes out of his shower one morning and sees Michael in a baseball tee with long blue sleeves, he casually says, “Isn’t that my shirt?”

Michael turns around. “Might be,” he says, shrugging. “It was in my bag, but who knows.”

Calum comes closer and tugs the back of the shirt away from Michael’s back, glancing at the tag. _Hood,_ it says, in faded sharpie. “It’s mine,” he confirms.

“Not today it’s not,” Michael says. Calum accepts this with an incline of his head. He doesn’t care if Michael wears it. In fact, Michael looks unfairly good in it. He just likes to know.

The following day, Michael is wearing his own shirt, but there’s a snapback holding his hair together. When he sits down beside Calum in the interview studio, before the cameras start, Calum snatches the hat off Michael’s head and twists it around. It has the Adidas logo on the front. Calum would bet money that Michael doesn’t own anything from Adidas and probably can’t even spell it.

“This is mine,” he says.

Michael takes it back. “You’re going to mess my hair up.”

“I’m just saying it’s my hat.”

“Well, your hair looks fine,” Michael says. “Stop complaining and be thankful that you don’t have bedhead.” It’s Michael’s fault for sleeping until the last possible minute, but Calum doesn’t say so.

“I’m not saying I want it back right now,” he says. “I’m just pointing out that it belongs to me.”

“Okay. Point made.” The interviewer and her team come over then, and the conversation, which had reached its natural end anyway, is cut off.

The day is full of being swept around from place to place, and by the end Calum is wishing he’d brought a hat, too; his hair is a ruffled mess. They get back to the hotel room dead on their feet. The four of them split off to their respective rooms with hardly a farewell, Luke and Ashton heading left while Mike and Calum go right. Calum keys them into the room, and Michael pushes his way into the room and falls face-first onto his bed.

“Come on,” Calum says, because someone has to be the voice of reason. “Pajamas, brush your teeth. Let’s go.”

Michael makes a noise of protest into his pillow. Calum pulls Michael’s shoes off his feet and then yanks at his legs until he starts sliding backwards off the bed. Only then does Michael twist over and tug the hat off his head. He throws it onto the floor. Calum will deal with it later.

“Don’t wanna,” Michael grumbles.

“You won’t want to sleep in jeans,” Calum says. “You’ll wake up all sweaty and uncomfortable.”

Michael grimaces, but he knows Calum is right, so he tumbles his way out of his bed. Calum steers him towards his messy bag of clothes. “Pajamas,” he orders. Once it’s clear enough that Michael can get his own pajamas on, Calum strips down and pulls his own sweatpants on. He would sleep shirtless, but this hotel room runs cold, so he pulls a faded Green Day shirt over his torso and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes out, he’s face to face with Michael.

Michael is wearing an old, weathered tour shirt from The Rolling Stones. “That,” Calum says, “is my shirt.”

Michael scrunches his nose up, and it’s so cute that Calum feels his breath catch. “Get over it,” he grouses. “I’m sleeping in it.” He disappears into the bathroom. Calum spends the time it takes for Michael to brush his teeth recovering from Michael looking that sleepy and precious, and all his work is unraveled when Michael comes back out. Calum has an unnerving urge to wrap him in a hug that never ends. He wants to kiss him. God, Calum _needs_ to shake this. 

“Sleep with me?” Michael asks, quiet. 

“Are you propositioning me?” Calum teases. Michael blushes.

“Not at the moment,” he says. He sounds deflated, but it could be exhaustion. “Cuddle with me, I meant,” he adds.

“Duh,” Calum says, and climbs into bed with him.

Calum keeps noticing Michael taking his clothes. He doesn’t exactly mind, but he does point it out every time Michael does it, more instinctively than anything else. After two weeks, Calum is relatively certain Michael has worn every article of clothing Calum had brought on tour.

Michael ambles into the back lounge of the tour bus and collapses into the seat next to Calum. “I’m tired of the bus,” he announces. “I want to kiss the ground.”

“Kinky,” Calum says, glancing over. He does a double-take. Michael’s wearing his black DROPDEAD tank top, and looks so good that Calum has to tear his eyes away. Fuck. It should be illegal for Michael to wear his clothes. “Isn’t that mine?” he adds casually, gesturing.

Michael looks down at himself. “Oh,” he says. “I wondered. I didn’t think I’d ever buy this. ‘S really comfy, though, thanks.”

“You’re awfully fond of wearing my clothes,” Calum says. “Didn’t you pack any of your own?”

“Do you want me to stop?” Michael asks. “I thought you didn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Calum says hurriedly, wanting to add _please only wear my clothes from now on_ but also _never wear anything of mine again unless you want to stop my heart._ “Just noticing.”

Michael makes a face like _alright_ and drops his head into Calum’s lap. Calum starts reflexively carding through his hair. Michael hums softly, closing his eyes, and Calum hopes to God Michael can’t feel his pulse skyrocketing.

5.

Michael’s been more affectionate than usual today. Calum’s not complaining — he loves when Michael wraps an arm around him, pats his cheek, ruffles his hair, gloms onto his back. But it’s definitely more than Michael usually is, or at least more than he’s been recently. Maybe someone slipped him something in his breakfast.

It’s just gone 10pm when they get back to the hotel room. Michael is giggling at something on his phone. Calum leans over to read it — a Tweet — and laughs as well.

“You’re weird today,” he says, poking Michael’s cheek. He kicks off his shoes and takes a running leap at the bed, settling comfortably with his back against the headboard. Michael looks up at Calum and frowns, though not unhappily. He also takes off his shoes and climbs into the bed with Calum. 

“Weird how?” he asks when he’s settled into Calum’s side.

“Like. Touchier than usual,” Calum says, before realizing that means something completely different. “Not touchier. More touching. Touching more.”

Michael puts his palm against Calum’s cheek. “Like that?”

“That’s an example of you touching me, yes,” Calum says dryly, trying to ignore the way his pulse has just spiked.

“Huh. I don’t feel any different,” Michael says. “Maybe you’re projecting.”

“You definitely didn’t use that word correctly.”

“Actually, I make my own definitions now,” Michael says. “Someone on Twitter said. So I was right. You’re projecting.”

Calum snorts. They lapse into comfortable silence. Calum can feel the steady rise and fall of Michael’s chest under his palm. It’s soothing in its familiarity. 

“You were kind of like old Michael,” Calum says before he can stop himself.

Michael turns, sitting up and facing Calum. “What does that mean?”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not like things are worse now. We just used to be different, right? Like, kiss each other’s cheeks and stuff, and it didn’t matter. Just feels like now, with the spotlight, it’s a bit different. But you reminded me of before, today.”

Michael fixes him with a look Calum can’t read. It throws him for a loop; usually Michael’s thoughts are so obvious on his face he may as well be yelling them.

“I can still kiss you on the cheek,” he says, as if personally challenged. 

Calum huffs, smiling a little. “I know, that’s not —”

Michael leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “There,” he says. “Just like old times.”

Calum feels his face getting hot. “That’s not really what —”

“I’ll do you one better,” Michael says. He shuffles slightly nearer to Calum and presses a kiss to his forehead, then to his other cheek, then his shoulder, then his jaw. Calum shivers and tries not to tear the duvet with his clenched fist.

Michael leaves a kiss on his temple, then another; he kisses his nose and his chin and then his cheek again. When he pulls away, they’re close enough that Calum can feel the heat of his breath. His own breath is stuttering in his chest, pulse jackrabbiting all over the place.

Michael’s eyes are a little darker and he presses one more delicate kiss just barely on the corner of Calum’s mouth. Calum swallows a whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?” Michael murmurs, voice low and gravelly. Calum can’t breathe. He searches for Michael’s eyes.

“No,” he whispers.

Michael cups Calum’s jaw with his hand and crashes their lips together, unapologetically fierce. His lips are sweet and soft. They move in easy sync with Calum’s, and Calum tilts his head, perfecting the angle. Michael licks his lower lip and Calum makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat. He feels Michael’s grip tighten, his hand sliding through Calum’s hair. The way Michael is taking control of this kiss is _hot_ ; he bites at Calum’s lip, then licks at the inside of his mouth, and Calum fails to suppress the moan that escapes his throat.

Michael smirks, and Calum takes the opportunity to press forward. Michael pulls away for just a second as he sits back, maybe startled that Calum’s pushing back, but Calum whines and chases Michael’s lips. He kisses Michael again, wishing oxygen weren’t a thing so he’d never need to stop. Michael groans into his mouth, and Calum, emboldened, drags his hands down Michael’s chest. They land on Michael’s waist, and Calum is tempted to curl his fingers under Michael’s shirt when Michael pulls back, breathing heavily. Calum wants to kiss him again and again forever, but he’s also running short on breath, so he just sits and stares at Michael, whose lips are shiny and so, so tempting.

“Why’d you stop?” Calum says thickly. He swallows and tries to gain some semblance of control over himself, but it’s no use. 

Michael smiles, biting his lip. No fair, Calum thinks, he _knows_ that’s one of Calum’s turn-ons. “Had to take a second to make sure this wasn’t a dream,” he says.

Calum feels his heart give out completely. “If it is a dream,” he says, “I hope it doesn’t end.” He pauses. “Have you had this dream?”

“Like a thousand times,” Michael says, and doesn’t even seem embarrassed. “But this is better.”

Calum reddens and smiles like an absolute idiot. He leans forward, dropping his head to Michael’s shoulder. “You sap.”

“Yeah,” Michael says easily. He fidgets a bit, and Calum twists his head without picking it up off Michael’s shoulder, sensing unease. He presses a kiss to Michael’s jaw, and Michael exhales, tilting his head a bit to give Calum easier access. Calum takes the cue, kissing Michael along his jaw before curling his palm around the back of Michael’s neck and kissing him squarely on the mouth. If the first kiss had been pure sex, this one feels like the hundreds of touches they’ve shared, gentle and reassuring and steady. Calum wants to kiss Michael every single way. It’s so easy, so familiar. He kisses softly and then pulls away.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Michael says, obviously lying. Calum rolls his eyes.

“You just had your tongue down my throat and _now_ you’re being cagey?”

Michael snorts. Then he sobers up, glancing down at his hands. “Just wondering,” he says nervously, “if, uh, if you meant it.”

“Meant what?”

Michael gestures between the two of them. Oh.

“Mikey, are you joking?” Calum asks. “Of course I meant it, you fucking idiot. Wouldn’t kiss just anyone.”

“You would too.”

“I wouldn’t kiss just anyone like that,” Calum amends. This earns him a small smile.

“Okay,” Michael says, twisting the sleeve of his sweater. “Because I — I meant it. Mean it. I like you, like, a ridiculously stupid amount. I want —” He breaks off. Calum thinks of all the ways he might end that sentence. _To kiss you. To be your boyfriend. You._

He breathes out. “Me too,” he says. “I want, too.”

Michael’s face illuminates, and Calum wonders how he ever doubted that he loves Michael Clifford.

“Good,” Michael says.

“Only if you admit you’re a bottom, though,” Calum says.

Michael smirks. “That’s just something you’ll have to find out.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Calum asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before dragging Michael back into a kiss.

**+1.**

When they all gather back on the tour bus the following day, Luke and Ashton keep exchanging these very suspicious looks. Calum tries to compensate by exchanging looks with Michael, but that just leads to the revelation that Michael is almost always looking at him, and he ends up blushing. Which leads to more Luke/Ashton Looks.

Finally, when they’re all relaxing in the lounge, Luke speaks up.

“So,” he says. “Mike. Cal. Fun night?”

Ashton bursts out laughing.

Calum glances at Michael, and Michael looks mostly amused, so Calum decides to emulate that.

“It was, yeah,” Michael says. 

“We know,” Ashton says. He’s recovered from his laughter fit, but he’s still grinning widely. “We definitely know.”

“You know our hotel rooms shared a wall, right?” Luke says.

“Maybe we were just indulging your voyeurism kink,” Michael says.

Calum snorts. “Of course Luke is a voyeurist.”

“I’m not — this isn’t about me!” Luke says, affronted.

“It’s okay, Lukey. You can say you’re jealous. Maybe we’ll let you watch sometime.”

“No,” Calum says, feeling it necessary to clear that right up. “We will not. But you’re welcome to watch Ashton wank.”

“Don’t volunteer my body for sexual favors,” Ashton says, although he’s blushing a little. Calum files that away.

“If any of us could turn a profit as a sex slave, it would be Ash,” Calum points out. “He’s the most fit.”

“Wh— hey!” Michael exclaims.

“He’s the most physically fit,” Calum rectifies. “You’re the hottest, though,” he says to Michael.

“In your opinion,” Luke mutters. Michael flips Luke off.

“I feel like we should address this,” Ashton says. “Mikey, Cal, are you guys together? What’s the situation?”

When Michael seems hesitant to say anything affirmative, Calum laces their fingers together and nods. “Together,” he says. “Boyfriends, I think.” The word gives him a funny, giddy feeling.

“Right,” Ashton says. “In that case, I am _begging_ you to stop banging while either of us are in the next room.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause we got some and you didn’t,” Michael says.

“Actually, Ashton and Calum —”

“ _Drop it_ about the sex dream, that was _forever_ ago,” Calum says loudly, while Luke giggles. It bothers Calum that Luke is still completely capable of pulling off giggling.

“I literally don’t care how many times you get each other off,” Ashton says. “We just don’t want to hear. That’s the point. We don’t want to know.”

“On the bright side,” Calum says, “you can now confirm for the world that Michael is, in fact, a bottom.”

“ _Switch,_ ” Michael says. Calum kisses his cheek and pats his knee.

“It won’t tear us apart if you admit it,” he says.

“I’m not a bottom,” Michael says, folding his arms grumpily over his chest. Ashton pinches the bridge of his nose. Luke looks somewhat entertained.

“Please just don’t have sex in front of my — _our_ faces,” Ashton says.

Calum shrugs. “Fine with me. Mike?”

“You sure you don’t want to watch, Luke?”

Luke aims a kick at Michael’s shins while Calum laughs. “Yeah, fine. We won’t have sex while you’re physically in the room. But that’s all I’ll say.”

Ashton sighs.

“If you’re so pressed about it, get a boyfriend,” Michael says. “I bet Luke would fuck you.” Luke looks scandalized. His ears turn bright red.

“Don’t volunteer _my_ body for sexual favors!” he says.

“Luke would not fuck me, I’d fuck him,” Ashton says. Luke’s face expresses a tangled web of conflicted emotions. “I mean. Not Luke. God, I wish I hadn’t engaged with that. Like, hypothetically, I would be on top.”

“I feel like I’m learning so much about everyone,” Michael says. “This has brought us closer as a band.”

“Well, I quit the band,” Luke says, face still bright pink. “I’m going to join One Direction.”

“Good riddance,” Michael says. “Can’t have a virgin in 5 Seconds of Summer anyway.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Luke protests.

“Not once Ashton’s through with you, you won’t be,” Calum says.

Ashton buries his face in his hands. “I hate all of you. Malum shouldn’t be allowed in the band.”

“You can’t stop our love,” Michael shouts, wrapping his arms around Calum and squeezing tight. “Our love can move mountains and discover Luke’s kinks! There’s nothing our love can’t do!”

Calum settles back into Michael’s chest as Luke starts loudly proclaiming that he has no kinks, and even if he had, nobody will ever learn them. Michael leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Love you.”

Calum smiles and turns his head to kiss Michael’s cheek. “Love you too,” he says, and if it’s the only thing he knows for certain, it’s enough.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> can you tell the +1 was an afterthought??? lkjkdjslkdj  
> anyway. im on tumblr @clumsyclifford so you should come chat about. whatever. malum or anything. i will talk to anyone about anything just say hey! leave a comment if u liked it.......it would be very nice of you and make smile :)


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